Coconut Grove i'd promise you anything for another shot at life.

There was a chill in the air, the kind that you could almost smell. The sand glittered with frost that sparkled in the morning light. It was quiet. Even the gulls were calm, only letting out a few soft cries here and there over the never-ceasing roll of the tide. Snow was falling softly, and while it looked beautiful coming down from the sky, it looked out of place there, collecting on the beach and on the already frosted edges of a single coconut nestled in sand that should've been warm and soft.

Someone could've written quite a lovely poem about the scene and all of its hidden metaphors, but the only soul around to witness it just then was Penn. He was lying on the sand, his nose pointed towards the coconut with only about three feet of space between them. He blinked dully at it, bored, tired, hungry, useless. He knew he ought to get up and do something, but after weeks of lazing about beneath the coconut trees, he just could not muster the motivation.

Had the weather been warmer, his situation probably would've been enviable. Who wouldn't want to waste the day away, lying in warm sands under the sun like they're vibing at a Jimmy Buffet concert? But, it was cold, and so it was sad. And while Penn knew this, he couldn't find a way to use that knowledge to inspire him into action. He just laid there, staring at his coconut.